Remembering Mario Schiopetto

Today the only ones who remember him are people in their 50s and up, but back in the 1970s, and for at least the following three decades, he was a great figure for Friuli wines. He was among the first to ferment his wines “off the skins” and already in 1970 had produced some exceptional wines, from Pinot Bianco to Malvasia and even some Rhine Riesling. He was a great friend of Luigi Veronelli, who almost held him in awe, and all things considered he was a man with a strong personality who was never afraid to hold his tongue.

I found this out very well in the spring of 1988 when, for the first time, I was engaged in an overall tasting and evaluation of Friuli wines for the second edition of Gambero Rosso’s Vini d’Italia guide. I was just over 30 years old at the time and I had to attend the tastings because the previous year, for the first edition, the region was assigned to a young collaborator, today very well known but who I would prefer not to name, who caused quite a commotion. Inspired by my great passion, I decided to totally overturn the evaluations that had been given up until then by people like Veronelli, Benini and Piccinardi, which in those years were considered gospel.

My intention was not altogether wrong, but I had my youthful naiveté and, above all, a bias in favor of young producers who were beginning to establish themselves, people like Gallo, Jermann and Gravner, which created no few problems. For Mario Schiopetto, the phrase “no few” was an understatement.  And so, when I called him to make an appointment to visit his estate, always in a rigorously formal and respectful way, his reply was more or less this: “Ah, you’re from Gambero Rosso… I was waiting for your call. Last year you did a terrible review so come along, I have a thing or two to tell you”. His was not the most cordial invitation but I thought that, when he met me, he would change his tone. He did not recognize me over the phone but he had met me a number of times because of my long association with Veronelli.

I left from Percoto, where Giannola Nonino had put me up in their guest house (and where some time later I would meet Leonardo Sciascia, for which I remain eternally grateful) and drove my light-blue Fiat Uno to Capriva del Friuli, where Mario Schiopetto’s winery had its headquarters. He was already not well and walked with a cane because of the condition he had been battling for many years. The entrance at the time had a glass door and Mario was seated, waiting for me, facing the entrance with his cane leaning against the chair.

I arrived, opened the door and said hello. “Stay right where you are because we first need to talk”. He caught me by surprise and I couldn’t even take off my coat for almost an hour and few times have I been told as many things as I was then. “You do not understand that you’re dealing with people’s daily bread. You can say what you will about me, I can take it and I’m not afraid of what anybody says. But the evaluation you published about Cantina Produttori di Cormons was shameful. That cooperative supports many families here and you should measure your words, otherwise you will hurt a lot of people and without cause, to say the least”.

His words were burned into my mind big time. He was right and there was nothing I could say. At the end, perhaps because he felt sorry for me with my non-existent reply, he said: “That’s enough for today. Now sit down and let’s taste some wines”. And he poured for me a glass of 1987 Tocai (as it was called then). It was not the best vintage for Tocai, the ’86 was decidedly better, but I thought this was fantastic. It was light green, with a delicate bouquet and classic notes of fresh almond, saline and balanced. I didn’t taste it, I drank it. He had forgiven me, us, and had understood everything, including my youthful peccadillo.

Nevertheless, that scolding, which at the time shamed me, served to make me understand that the efforts of others must always be respected, especially if they are done with commitment and in good faith. Those who place themselves in a pulpit to judge others should at least have the humility to understand this fundamental lesson. One for which I had a great teacher.